


Ex Libris

by Slime_Qween



Category: Rush (Band)
Genre: Book Fetish, Kink Discovery, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slime_Qween/pseuds/Slime_Qween
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Christmas gift from Rockfic. Reflections on travel, reading, and downtime, plus an unexpected revelation about just how much someone can like books...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ex Libris

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for Soobie, as part of 2015's A Very Kinky Rockfic Ficmas Fest. The prompt was 'Neil Peart, (Rush): Book Fetish, set in the 70s please.'  
> This was written in one go during the last few hours of the challenge, because I wanted to contribute at least a few things to our tiny little fandom and this prompt was way too unique and fun to pass up. Despite being written in such a short time, I think it's a pretty solid piece of writing.

Travel was grueling, as always. It was about one AM in a tiny Minnesota airport, and they were all exhausted. They had arrived three hours ago, when the snow was falling lightly, but it had quickly turned into a storm so bad that it would have made it unsafe to fly. So there they were, the band, the crew, and all of their luggage, stranded on the floor of the airport lobby, waiting for the storm to clear.

This was Neil's least favorite part of touring. Not that he particularly liked any part of it, besides the time he was able to spend on his own, exploring whatever city he was in, but the long stretches of waiting were especially bad. Waiting in airports, in bus stations, waiting for shows to begin, waiting for them to end, the endless hours spent crammed into cars and busses and planes, never a moment of peace but never enough stimulation for all the activity. He had always loved to read, but in the past few years it had become something of a necessity. He needed something to fill all that empty time, something that felt constructive, and reading filled that need very well. It was a great comfort to have a book in his bag or coat pocket, he could read anywhere he liked and never be bored.

Tonight he had a very old copy of Asimov's _Foundation Trilogy_ that he was looking forward to rereading. He was a little away from the rest of the group, separated from them by a pile of luggage that gave him bit of privacy. He leaned back against a duffel bag and found his book, taking a moment to examine it before he started reading. It was an old dime store paperback edition, with yellowed pulp pages and a cover illustration featuring a strange-looking robot and a woman in a low-cut dress who he wasn't sure actually appeared in the story. The binding was partially held together with scotch tape, and on the inside flyleaf the original 25-cent price was still visible, written in pencil by the seller. He had owned this particular book for so long that he had forgotten how it had come to him. He opened the book and ran his fingers over the first page, smoothing it out and feeling the rough texture of the paper. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then brought the book up to his nose and sniffed it. He loved the smell of old books, even though admitting it made him feel a little odd. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent, building up the anticipation. He felt warm despite the coldness of the room, and his sense of excitement and delight was building as he turned to the opening chapter. Maybe it wasn't as good as his own nice, warm bedroom, but how could he object to a quiet evening alone with a good book? He was snapped out of his happy thoughts by a sudden, familiar, _insistent_ sensation that he didn't usually associate with books. At least not any book he'd be comfortable reading in public. He felt himself blushing as heat pooled in the pit of his stomach. That was.definitely a new one. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to relieve some of the pressure. Maybe it wasn't such a good time to read, after all. Maybe he had better get some sleep instead. He put his book away carefully and hunkered down deeper into his luggage fort, feeling a mixture of shame and confusion. He was probably just overtired, he told himself. He'd be better after a nap.


End file.
